


Family Day

by Lady_in_Red



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: The Padres' Annual Family Day brings up bad memories for Mike.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A little Mike angst for a Pitch-less Thursday.

“Gabriel Sanders, stop giving your father bunny ears.”

Ginny didn’t even bother asking how Evelyn knew he was doing that, she just waited until Gabe rolled his eyes and put his hand down. Luckily this time she caught the gleam in his brother’s eye in time to bark, “Marcus,” and stop him from repeating his twin’s behavior.

“Okay, smile,” Ginny instructed, squinting into Evelyn’s fancy DSLR. She fired off several shots before the boys lost interest and started pulling faces. Hopefully one of those would work for the Sanderses Christmas card.

“Thanks, Ginny,” Evelyn offered, walking over to take the camera. Her heels stuck in the turf with every step, but Ev still managed to look put together and elegant. “Will we see you for dinner?” 

“Not sure yet. I’ll let you know,” Ginny answered with a shrug as they started walking in from center field.

Evelyn had invited the whole team and their families over to relax and hang out after the team’s annual Family Day. Ticketholding kids 12 and under were allowed to run the bases after the game, and the players often brought their families that day, and hung out on the field to sign autographs for awhile. Ginny had signed enough balls to cramp her right hand before Ev rescued her to take a family photo in center field.

Kids were still circling the bases trailed by sunburned parents, and a horde of kids clutching balls and jerseys clustered around Livan near the bullpen, where he was giving autographs. On Ginny’s trip back to the dugout, she was waylaid by several little girls and a few boys. She took a few selfies, hoping she didn’t look too sweaty and tired, and answered their questions as best she could. 

One boy in particular seemed intent on talking her ear off about which pitches were most useful against power hitters. And that was far more Lawson’s wheelhouse than hers. After trying unsuccessfully to get his attention for a full minute (he actually seemed to be ignoring her, which he would pay for later), Ginny finally asked the kid to follow her over to the dugout. The kid’s grandfather insisted that wasn’t necessary, but Ginny told him it was no problem. That wasn’t strictly true, but it wouldn’t hurt Mike to talk to one more kid. He’d bailed early and gone back to the dugout during a temporary lull between groups of kids being let in. 

Lawson had his back turned as she thundered down the steps and approached him. “Old man, you’re needed on the field.” She resisted the urge to lay a hand on his back or touch his arm to turn him toward her. In his current mood he was more likely to bite her head off than accept her support or affection. 

Mike looked over his shoulder at her, kept his voice low. “Not in the mood for this today, rookie.” 

No, Lawson was even more surly and irritable than usual. Hitting 1-4 and being thrown out at second would do that to anyone. Besides, she’d expected extra crabbiness from her captain today, especially once Blip warned her that he’d asked for the day off and been denied. She got it, really. His mother wasn’t really in his life, he had no other family that Ginny knew of, and the family he’d expected to build with Rachel had disappeared along with their marriage. But the kid standing nervously outside the dugout had nothing to do with that.

“Two minutes.” She directed a quick, encouraging smile back at the kid, then turned back to Mike and added under her breath, “Come on, Lawson. This kid knows more about the Dodgers’ hitters than I do.”

A hint of a smile peeked out from Mike’s beard. “Baker, that’s not a high bar.”

She bumped him with her shoulder. “That’s why I have you. C’mon, you’re making me look bad here.”

Mike sighed heavily. “Fine. Two minutes.” He followed her up the dugout steps, blinking hard against the sun’s glare. 

“Okay,” Ginny said brightly, noticing the kid’s wide-eyed stare fixed on Mike looming behind her, and stepped aside, between Mike and the boy’s grandfather. “Davy, I bet Lawson here can answer your questions better than I can.”

“Davy, huh?” Mike glanced around, burly arms folded across his chest, and found the kid’s grandfather. He nodded at the man, but his eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.

“Good to see you, Mike,” Davy’s grandfather offered, taking a step forward. He started to put his hand out toward Mike but changed his mind.

“Mr. Grissom.” Mike watched him, but didn’t move. The glare he leveled at the man was the same one he reserved for particularly hated opponents and guys who tried to grope Ginny in bars.

“Grandpa, do you know him?” the kid asked, clearly in awe. 

“Little League, one summer,” Mike answered tersely. 

Mr. Grissom nodded, and forced a smile at his grandson. “That’s right. Davy, I’m going to sit down right over there, okay? It’s a little warm out here for an old man.”

Mike stiffened, and Ginny was officially confused. The chill radiating off of Mike was obvious to her, though the kid didn’t seem to notice. He started rapid-firing questions at Mike before his grandfather had taken two steps.

Ginny followed the man over toward the gate the grounds crew had opened. “So, you knew Mike back in Little League?”

Mr. Grissom nodded. He went through the gate and sat down in the first row of seating. “I taught him how to catch.”

Ginny shook her head a little. “He’s never mentioned you.”

A flicker of something crossed the man’s face too fast for Ginny to identify. “No, he wouldn’t.” His gaze drifted away from her and settled on Mike and his grandson. The boy was gesturing animatedly while he talked, and Mike had relaxed some. He mostly seemed to be listening. “I’d like to say I knew he’d be an All-Star one day, but he was ten. He was just a good kid who really loved the game, and way too smart to waste at first base.”

“He’s a good man, too,” Ginny felt compelled to add. 

Grissom nodded. “Can’t say I had much to do with that. Only knew him a couple months.” 

Ginny was starting to feel like she’d missed something important, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Meanwhile Mike was signing the kid’s ball. Time to go. “It was nice to meet you,” she said politely.

Mr. Grissom glanced up at her and smiled. “You too. Mike didn’t have a lot of friends as a kid. Glad to see he has them now.”

Ginny smiled awkwardly at that and made her way back to the dugout, passing the still starry-eyed kid as she went. Mike was waiting for her.

“What was that about?” she asked, following him down into the clubhouse. 

Mike grimaced, pushing past her to drop into his chair and start stripping off his gear. “Leave it alone, rookie.”

“No.” She took Blip’s chair and scooted closer until her knees bumped his. “Lawson, come on. I’ve never seen you be that rude to a fan, especially not one you knew.”

“Drop it,” he growled.

“Mike.” 

The glare he leveled at her could shatter glass, but she could see the misery behind it. And that—that wasn’t normal. Lawson shut down. It’s what he did. And it was her job, or Blip’s, depending on the circumstances, to tease out of him whatever was bothering him. “Later?” she asked, under her breath, so only he would hear.

He nodded, that one tiny gesture he seemed to reserve for her. When he was ready, they’d talk.

* * *

 

The house was dark when she parked in the driveway and keyed in the security code for the door. She tiptoed into the kitchen, leaving a bottle of tequila and a bag of fresh limes on the counter, and listened. Maybe Mike wasn’t even home. The car he’d driven to the ballpark was here, but he could have been picked up, or taken an Uber somewhere. 

Blip had mentioned that Mike wasn’t coming to dinner at the Sanders house, but maybe he’d changed his mind? Then again, Blip had also warned her that Mike’s usual fix for a day like today was to call up a groupie. Deal with Lawson’s bullshit tomorrow, that was Blip’s advice. Not that Ginny had listened. 

She fished her phone out of her pocket, checked that she hadn’t missed a text. She’d waited at home for hours, expecting Mike to call. Finally she’d shoveled down some leftover Chinese food and tried to decide if she was more annoyed or worried. It didn’t matter, because the solution for both was to go to his house. 

Ginny crossed the living room, where shifting greenish light fell on Mike’s aggressively masculine furniture. She’d never seen a house that screamed ‘bachelor pad’ quite as loudly as this one. Black leather, chrome, glass, and that damned painting of Mike over the stairs. Blip called it the Fortress of Solitude, but Ginny was pretty sure Superman never had groupies parading through his bedroom. That would have been a more interesting movie.

The light was coming from the pool outside. She headed upstairs and through the game room. Outside she could see Mike’s dark head above the back of the couch. He raised a bottle to his lips while she watched, and when she cracked open the sliding glass door soft music filtered in from outside. Guitars, a deep Southern-accented voice, and lyrics that practically demanded a glass of whiskey. Country music was a good sign, even if he was listening to moody ballads. In his worst moods he favored Springsteen for some reason. 

“Baker, I see you lurking over there.” 

Ginny crossed the pool deck while Mike fiddled with his phone, turning down the music. He was still wearing the jeans and flannel shirt he’d left the ballpark in. The six-pack on the deck beside him held three empties, plus the beer in his hand made four. So not a good night, but she’d seen worse, right after he and Rachel split up for good. 

She took one of the remaining beers and sat at the end of the couch, his bare feet touching her thigh. “Blip warned me you’d probably have company tonight.” 

Mike’s gaze wandered back to the open sliding door. “Did he come with you?”

Ginny set her beer down unopened. “No, I told him I could handle you.” 

He cocked an eyebrow at that. “You think you can handle me?” He sounded both amused and annoyed.

She shrugged. “Do you want to talk?” 

Mike grimaced and set his beer down. “Not really. You gonna make me?”

Ginny considered joking with him, saying she could make him talk, but that seemed like the wrong play here. “He didn’t touch you or anything, did he?” 

It was the only thing she could think of to explain his behavior, but his horrified expression told her she was wrong before he even spoke. “No. God, no.” Mike sighed heavily, scraped a hand down his face and through his beard. “He’s my father.”

“Your father? Not your Little League coach?” 

“No, he  _ was  _ my coach. I’d never met him before, didn’t know who he was. I never saw him after that, either.”

Ginny followed that to its logical conclusion. “So that kid was your nephew.”

Mike shrugged. “Technically. He was married when he met my mom. His family doesn’t know I exist.” 

Ginny doubted that the wife didn’t know, but that wasn’t a helpful line of discussion. “You never tried to contact him?”

“Why should I?” Mike scoffed. “He’s known exactly where I was for 17 years.”

Ginny had about four questions, maybe five, before he clammed up, but she didn’t really know where to start. “How’d he meet your mom?” 

“Worked at his car dealership.” He caught her look of surprise. “Yes, he owns car dealerships. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I said nothing.” But a lot of things about Mike were falling into place.

“Your face said something, rookie. And it’s still talking.” He picked up his beer again, sipped it to avoid saying more. 

He looked like he was about to send her home and spend the rest of the night alone brooding and likely doing some serious damage to that bottle of tequila in the kitchen. It didn’t feel like the right time to suggest that his father might not know Mike knew who he was.

“We don’t have to talk.” Ginny kicked off her shoes and turned toward him. “What were your plans for later?”

Mike took a long pull from his beer and set it back down. “I was gonna call this girl, she could make me forget this whole damned day, make me forget my name even.” 

“Yeah? Maybe you should call her.”

His smirk was almost hidden under that overgrown beard. “Come here, Baker.”

She crawled into Mike’s lap intending to kiss him senseless, but changed her mind as her hands skimmed his shoulders and his arms wrapped around her. Ginny kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose, and each cheek, let her forehead rest against his. She could smell the beer on his breath and feel his beard tickling her chin. “You okay?” she asked.

“I will be.” His big hands roamed her back, her ass, her thighs. His touch was more possessive than sexual. “Can you stay tonight?”

Ginny kissed him softly, shifted to snuggle against him, letting his warmth seep into her. “Yeah, of course.” She rarely spent the night at Mike’s, and when she did it was usually by accident. He never slept at her place. Far too much risk that they would be caught. 

In the weeks since they’d given into their attraction, Ginny hadn’t been surprised by how good the sex was. She didn’t like to think about how many women Mike Lawson had been with, but in his case practice made damn near perfect. What had surprised her was how much she liked just sleeping in his arms. Waking up to his warm bulk wrapped around her, his lips often pressed against her nape or her shoulder. She hadn’t wanted to do that with anyone since Trevor. 

Mike’s hand drifted up to play with the strap of her tank top. “You wanna go inside or stay here?” 

From the deep growl in his voice and the way his other hand was kneading her ass, she knew what he wanted, because he’d done it before. Stripped her down wherever they happened to be, taken her apart with his hands and mouth and fucked her until he left bruises on her hips and exhaustion claimed them both. His pool table still had marks from her fingernails scratched in the felt. 

That was what Mike wanted. What he needed was to be loved, thoroughly, maybe a little roughly, and all night if necessary. His father might have been too cowardly to claim him, his mother too unstable to provide for him, and his wife too selfish to fully commit to him, but he deserved better. If Ginny could give him a taste of that tonight, she would do it happily and let tomorrow take care of itself.

“Let’s go in.” She kissed him again, with a teasing nip of his lower lip, and got up. She was almost to the door when she realized Mike wasn’t following. He was watching her. “Are you coming, or do you do your best work sixty feet away?”

Mike laughed, and it was the best sound Ginny had heard all day. At least until he chased her to the bedroom.

 


End file.
